


King's Bane

by jarrahs



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassin Katara, F/M, Fire Lord Zuko, Slow Burn, Spin on Capture Fic, Unresolved Sexual Tension, azula doesn't mind it either, azula is Factually Gay, think 'a thousand and one nights' but flip it spin it and reverse it, zuko is keen on potential assassins living in his home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-06-24 10:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15628821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarrahs/pseuds/jarrahs
Summary: “I must say, from the women I’ve had in my chambers.” His voice was low and rough as his native Wu spilled out in what Katara considered to be a patronisingly slow pace. “None of them have been quite,”—his hand dropped to touch her knee, sliding up, up her thigh. She tensed, tried to ignore the fear pulsing in her ears; the heat seeping from his hand—“so”—she clenched her teeth but kept her eyes locked on his—“interesting.”He had snatched her dagger out of its sheath. (Zutara Assassin AU)





	1. Chapter 1

__Tell me the story  
about how the sun   
loved the moon  
so much he died  
every night  
to let her breathe

…

She could hear music from the streets below. 

Peering over the roof she’d been perched on since dawn, Katara caught a glimpse of the roaring festivities six floors beneath. Men and women danced along the edges of her vision with bright dragonfly floats and thick ribbons swirling in the humid air. Drunk, celebratory cheers rang in her ears, the drums loud enough to shake the houses.

She focused on the guards stationed outside the palace gates atop the hill. Her gaze drifted down towards the ones that stumbled over their feet with tinges of firewhiskey on their breath, gripping scantily clad women to their metal chests. One girl giggled at something a soldier murmured into her ear and brushed her hand down the overly optimistic ridges of his armour.

Katara looked away, the image of herself in those thin scraps pinging off the walls of her brain. 

“You are  _so_  funny,” she had tittered into his neck. 

It was her and it wasn’t, all the same. An off-kilter version of her that sang a siren’s song edged with promise and danger. She pushed her breasts together under the lewd stare of the sorry soldier. It was more tedious than a firm slash of her trusty blade along the column of his neck, but it had been the only choice. She had to remain undetected for as long as possible and leaving a bloody trail of guards in her wake was going to, quite literally, ring alarm bells.

“What say you and I find someplace more private?” the stocky bastard had slurred into the ear of her fox mask. 

 _Beautiful_ , Katara had thought when swiping it off a nearby mistress. It was adorned with bronze feathers that stood as tall as a crown, jewels that caught and danced with the torchlight. The slits revealed blue eyes so striking they turned heads and promised trouble. Her bronze skin was a clear giveaway that she was a foreigner, a zealous tourist or a whore bought and sold for pleasure—it didn’t matter. It seemed that the pale folk here enjoyed the exotic allure of an outsider.

She’d agreed with convincing fervour, though she doubted her consent was worth a dime. One satisfying tug of a water whip around his cock and she’d be dragged away to rot behind bars. The lesson would foil months of preparation. She allowed the soldier to haul her down a darkened, spiralling alleyway. 

The ring of keys to the security entrance clanged against her hip. Poor Bo, he was probably waking up from a deep sleep about now, the first throbs of a concussion seeping in.

The Festival of Lights was unlike anything she had ever seen. The natives danced all night, adorning shades of the sun, ducking under paper dragons and foregoing sleep for drunken mistakes. There was a small part of her that hoped she’d be close to the borders by the time morning came, and with it the grief of their dead King. These people were wild and free and a small part of her wanted them to forgive her.

There was a churn in her stomach and she thought of home. The last time she’d thought of the southern tribe, she’d cried herself into a fever. It hadn’t lasted long as she had developed an attuned talent for healing. This time, sickening guilt came in waves with an onslaught of cherished memories of the family she had left behind. A tear tickled down her cheek. She let it fall.

Katara dragged the back of her gloved hand across her cheek, the fabric rough and itchy against her damp skin.

Her earliest memories were of Gran-gran, the resident psychic feeding their nightmares with stories of the Fire Nation. The tales were simple enough, fire-breathing monsters that bared their sharp teeth at children and pillaged the weak to fuel their ravenous hunger. Katara didn’t have to worry of nightmares. She hadn’t slept well since she was eight-years-old watching a Fire Nation sword tear her mother in two.

The bells by the temple chimed twelve.

People below cheered even louder, they had no intention of sleeping tonight. Katara pulled her scarf up to rest on the tip of her nose. When she exhaled, it was muffled and warm and shaky.

She whispered a prayer to her saints and stepped off the edge of the roof.

...

His fingers thrummed against the table impatiently.  _Where was she?_  

He felt on edge without his General, especially this close to a meeting with the Elders. She was meant to bring word of the refugees thirty minutes ago. He knew the Elders were wary, to say the least, about his recent asylum mandate. He didn’t think he could stand another meeting with the bigots without leaving the room in flames.

“Zuko, are you  _listening_  to me?”

The Fire Lord refocused his gaze and gave her a smile.

“Of course, Mai.”

She rolled her heavily lined eyes. “Well? Fire lilies or roses?”

Zuko didn’t know what to make of her sudden interest in the wedding. It was unlike her to show much interest in anything. She was a gifted fighter and could probably kill him without as much as lifting her finger. But they didn’t  _talk._ And she certainly didn’t sit around the palace contemplating centrepieces.

They had been promised to each other before birth. Zuko hadn’t argued, least of all when they had taken each others’ virginities. Mai was the daughter of a very rich Noble and important political figure. She was beautiful and fertile with healthy family genes. And sometimes, before he got so busy with Fire Lord duties, she would let him between her legs. Their alliance simply made sense. After his twenty-fifth birthday, plans for their wedding had just set naturally into motion.

“Whatever you prefer.” He said, taking a sip of tea. He grimaced as he set it down. It was bitter. The leaves had soaked for far too long. He would have to get Uncle to teach the staff a thing or two.

“I cannot do this alone.”

“You don’t have to do it at all. We have staff taking care of all the arrangements.” He didn’t have to notice her scowl to immediately regret the words.

“You don’t care for my input in  _our_  wedding?”

Zuko had always possessed the impressive talent of fitting his entire foot into his mouth.

“That is not what I said.”

Mai opened her mouth to ask him what it was that he meant exactly. Her words were stopped short by the doors being thrown open. He thanked Agni for his General’s impeccable timing. 

“Sorry for the wait. I broke a nail.”

Azula threw them a dazzling smile, unbuckling the lapels of her armour and handing them off to a waiting maid.

“You didn’t have to wait on my account.” Azula said as she walked over to her seat, pressing a greeting kiss to the air beside her brother’s cheek. She winked in the direction of her longtime friend whose fingers were tight around the metal handles of her chopsticks.

“We wouldn’t have had to wait if you were on time.” said Zuko.

His sister stuck her tongue out at him. For a few moments as they tucked into dinner, there was nothing but the clanging of chopsticks against plates or the quiet sipping of wine. Azula lifted her glass and it was refilled immediately. The maid blushed at the smirk the General gave her, scurrying away with her hands clasped tight.

She looked over the rim of her cup to her brother and then his fiancé.

“And how are the almost-weds?”

Mai said nothing as she soundlessly pried at her soup. Zuko cleared his throat and made a note to kill his sister after.

“Busy.” He said, avoiding eye contact with Mai. “And the refugees?” 

“Settling in well,” She told him after swallowing a steamed dumpling. “The transition will be a hard one but they are thankful for asylum.”

Zuko nodded. “Arrange for more medics to be sent. They have to be vaccinated against any local fevers. Many of them should be farmers or teachers; arrange them work and send their children to schools as soon as they’ve settled in.” 

“Already taken care of.” Azula told him. She shrugged at his surprise. “Somebody has to do your job.” 

Zuko narrowed his eyes and bit his cheek to keep from smiling.

After dinner, Mai’s chair screeched against the floor.

“Not staying the night?” Azula said slowly, quirking a brow.

Mai folded her hands in front of her as she stood. Zuko stood from his seat. Azula watched them from her seat for a few moments before downing the rest of her wine and standing up in a formal goodbye.

“Goodnight Azula, Zuko.” 

Azula dropped back to her cushioned seat and undid her topknot. Her fingers thread through her silky hair and she sighed in relief.

“And what is that look?” Zuko asked when she looked at him curiously. 

“When was the last time you two had sex?”

“Azula.” 

“It’s a fair question, brother.” 

“It’s inappropriate and none of your business.”

“That long?”

Zuko glowered.

“I imagine Mai is rather stiff in bed. Or is she the kinky sort, knife-play and all? Tell me when I’m getting warmer.” 

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re lonely.”

Azula felt a pang of guilt when the mirth disappeared from his eyes. An apology settled itself on the tip of her tongue. She leaned forward and refilled his glass with wine instead.

“And Ty Lee?” He said after a long sip.

“Enjoying the island. She writes about it endlessly.” She let out a dry laugh. “The Kyoshi have her heart.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Well.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. She ran her fingertip over the rim of her glass. “They have months to steal it.”

Her brother studied her for a long time. Her shoulders, usually the epitome of posture, almost drooped. Her eyes were glazed in a way that had nothing to do with the wine.

She blinked and was Azula again. A tinkling laugh. “I’m drunk.”

“You’re lonely.” He said softly. 

“Ah,” She smiled and pinched his temple.“But you can’t see it in my eyes.” 

…

Zuko heard a shuffle in his room as soon as the door shut behind him.

Twenty minutes later he could feel the heat of another person skirting around his bed.

Feigning sleep, he waited till the intruder had convinced themselves they had the upper hand. He heard the distinguishable clang of a knife being unsheathed, a soft swoosh as it cut through the air towards his heart.

He caught it by the hilt before it could pierce him. His free hand reached out and clasped the intruder’s throat. They struggled against his tight hold. He clenched his teeth and lurched them back till they hit the wall. He was quick to his feet, slamming the assassin back into the wall at their desperate struggle. They scrambled to their feet, slipping the dagger into the black folds of their disguise. 

“Hmm.” he leaned closer, pulling down her mask so it pooled around her neck. His tongue ran dry, heavy in his mouth when he saw his attacker. He’d known to expect a female the moment soft curves, ample and taut, struggled against him. But, this. Her skin was dark and rich under his hand. Her eyes, hard-set in a glare, were so startlingly blue Zuko had to remind himself of the circumstances.

 “I don’t know you and yet you want to kill me.”

“How impressive.” She bit back, her accent thick and clipped.

His lips quirked up, briefly, surprised.

Familiarity tugged at a shadowy corner of his mind but he couldn’t place her foreign tongue or her features. He hadn’t expected her to speak fluent  _Wu._ A foreign attack settled better in his stomach than treason from his very own. Maybe a refugee from the Northern tribes? Surely not.

Katara reeled with shame and fear and dread. She had failed. She had failed to slay the Dragon King and now her sharp tongue was bound to get her killed if nothing else. She would not beg for her life. She would pray silently to her spirits and face the strike of the sword with her head held high.

There was a sudden harsh knocking at the door, followed by, “Your Highness, is everything okay?”

This was it. Guards would storm in and she would be dragged into whatever dungeon or prison or hell-pit this palace was built on. When he hesitated, eyes unwavering in their pursuit for answers on her face, there was a silly surge of hope.

“Everything's fine.”

Katara’s jaw felt as if it would unhinge. Was this a trick? Even so, she was spared more precious moments of life. She was certain her spirits watched over her as his intrigue trumped any sensible precaution. She wondered if he now thought himself the predator and her the prey. Perhaps she was. Suddenly a cold, hard cell seemed almost appealing.

“I must say, from the women I’ve had in my chambers.” His voice was low and rough as his native  _Wu_ spilled out in what Katara considered to be a patronisingly slow pace. “None of them have been quite,”—his hand dropped to touch her knee, sliding up, up her thigh. She tensed, then tried to ignore the fear pulsing in her ears; the heat seeping from his hand, through the coarse fabric of her trousers to her bare flesh—“so”—she clenched her teeth but kept her eyes locked on his. She wouldn’t show weakness, no—“interesting.”

He had snatched her dagger out of its sheath. 

Pulling back far enough that Katara realised how close they had been, Zuko twirled it once in his hand.  _Shit._ She had been so careful, tucking it neatly within the folds of her robes. He ran his finger along the handle she’d carved, then the blade. He could tell she had made it herself, with the questionable workmanship and unintelligible carvings on the wood. His long fingers wrapped around the handle and then, he threw it sideways across the room. It sank into the wall to her left, almost buried to the hilt.

She hissed something foreign but he didn’t have to be a genius to know it was a curse. 

He looked at her then, curiosity bright on his smooth features. He didn’t recognise the language but the curl of her tongue coerced that niggling semblance of familiarity to the forefront of his mind. His gaze held hers for just a moment before casting downwards — in search of more weapons or more reasons to grope her? Katara could not tell.

This is when she should have run, fast and hard. If she jumped from the terrace, she’d have to heal her broken limbs. Her water pouch was empty — she had wasted her only lifeline.

He leaned into her again, this time close enough that she could smell him. Wood and spices and smoke. She struggled against his grip but his legs braced her tight between his body and the wall. His palms pressed against her clammy ones, fingers brushing up against her hands and leaving a trail of gooseflesh before they pushed up and deftly yanked the blades out from under her sleeves. They clattered to the marble floor, shattering on impact. 

She bared her teeth at him just as he had the gall to smirk. “I do hope you have more. I’m having so much fun finding them. 

She didn’t, but she’d use her bare hands to strangle the life out of him if she had to. 

“I’m going to rip your throat out and feed it to the fishes.” Caution be damned.

Shock lit up his eyes and he  _laughed_. There was a pang of humiliation in her gut that melted into a confused flurry of nerves at the genuine, molten sound. His throat was the second thing she’d rip out. 

“What is your name, assassin?”

“You can pry it off my cold, dead lips.”

“I just might.”

But she didn’t hear him. She was suddenly distracted. Her body practically hummed, for it sensed water nearby. It called out to her like a siren song. It was all she needed to break her foot free and drive it into his shin, hard. He almost keeled over in pain, giving her enough space to gather her wits. She couldn’t see the water but it felt close enough to beckon.

“Go to Hell—” Her words stopped short at the sight of the flames that engulfed each of his fists.

“That is no way to speak to your Fire Lord.” He growled, the hoarse words shooting up her spine. The flames burned brilliantly. The smoke rose into her nose, filling her mouth. She coughed, dizzy and unable to bend. Was he going to burn her alive? She wouldn’t put it past him.

“You are no Lord of mine.” Katara mustered, playing her minimal odds and yanking out the long, sharp pin that had kept her hair in a tight bun. She held it to his neck and willed herself not to cough from the fumes. Her hair, now free, cascaded in loose waves down her back to brush the backs of her thighs. Zuko’s breath hitched and she felt her cheeks burn. 

Before she could react, he reached up and broke her measly weapon in two with his fist. But she could breathe again and her head cleared up and now—pushing off the wall, Katara extended her arm and pulled it back sharply. A bubble of water flew across the room. It split into two shards of ice that sliced through the air just as the Fire Lord growled and pulled sharply at her leg. She caught the makeshift daggers before she fell to her knees with crushing pain. He looked at her through the long strands of his hair, his eyes wide and his mouth set into a snarl.

She kneeled before him, chest heaving, picturing what he saw. A woman scorned, wild hair unruly over stormy eyes and daggers of ice in each fist. A fitting final image before his death, she thought. 

“Any last words, Fire Lord?” The ice thawed her skin, but she didn't care.

“Do it.” He said. 

Silence, then. “You will not  _trick_   _me_ , Heathen—”

He surged towards her, took her wrists before she could scurry away and held her weapons to each side of his throat. She could feel him swallow hard beneath them. 

“No trick. Go on, do it.” Zuko told her harshly. The room spun around her. 

Katara’s mouth parted but the words were lost in her throat. She pressed the tips further into his neck, drawing blood and watching his face the entire time. He closed his eyes but his fingers closed over hers. They helped warm her skin and regain control of her frozen hands.

“What are you waiting for?” He snapped, his eyes boring into hers, challenging.

She didn’t know.  _She didn’t know._

Zuko tilted his head and nodded ever so slightly.

He melted the ice till water washed away the trickle of blood down his neck. Two long flames licked at each of her hands, burning her, starting the pyre she thought he’d crucify her on. She screamed, tears welling up in her eyes, her vision blurry and red. Her raw palms slipped on the cool marble as she scrambled away from him. He had evaporated the water, then suddenly leapt up and wretched her by the elbow, slamming her against the wall. If she wasn’t reciting her final prayers, she would have appreciated the training he’d had that resulted in such fluidity and speed.

This time when he spoke, it wasn’t to her, “Guards, summon Chief Advisor Iroh immediately."

There were confused murmurs on the other side of the door as she struggled against his hold on her. His good eye narrowed as if it could command her into obedience. It didn’t. They were going to lock her up. They probably had nifty little cells for peasants like her. 

Angry and desperate, she pushed her fist into his face. He dodged it smoothly, but her nails caught his cheekbone and she clawed at him with unleashed rage. Burnt skin against burnt skin. He winced, swearing in pain. With royal blood drying under her nails, she hissed at him.

“I hope you rot in Hell, you murdering piece of—”

“Am I interrupting something, Your Highness?” A gentle voice wafted across the room, freezing her in place.

Zuko caught her wrist and slammed it back against the wall so hard she heard a snap of bone. Katara bit her tongue to keep from screaming. 

“Only my assassination, uncle.”

“Perhaps I should come back later, then.”

The Fire Lord loosened his grip till he let go of her entirely. She chose the moment to run straight for the balcony.

Her feet hit the ground hard, spikes of pain shooting up her legs, hands begging to be healed the first chance she got. She could hear yelling and the sound of swords being unsheathed behind her, but focused on the blood pumping in her ears, the short distance to her freedom.

Katara climbed up one of the pillars and stepped onto the railing of the balcony, bracing herself for the jump. Drops of blood smeared the marble beneath her. Perhaps his, perhaps hers. Her vision spun, fraying at the edges. The pain of the burn was unbearable. She took a sharp breath through her nose, squeezing her eyes shut and stepping off, down— _whoosh_ —

Armoured arms wrapped around her middle just before she was pulled back to collide against steel.

“Summon the Healers and ready the room in the West Wing. She will be staying there.” There were murmurs of disapproval. If she could keep her eyes open, they would be wide with shock too. “Any of you lay a finger on her and I will cut it off myself.”

Then it all went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello angels! I am so overwhelmed by the positive response to this story so far, so thank you to every single one of you who took time out of their day to read it. I hope to update at least once every week, if not once every two weeks in case I'm being a lazy son of a bitch. Let me know what you think - I'm a slut for comments.

It was dark for a long time. 

Katara’s head felt heavy, a growing ache in every muscle. After a few attempts, she managed to force her eyes open, immediately blinking against the glaring light. It stayed blurry at first. Where was she? Her lips parted, gasping for air. There was a pang in her chest at the jerk of motion but she ignored it. There was a shuffle to her left—someone was here. The instinct to flee kicked in but was abruptly stopped short as she realised it drained all her energy to merely lift her hand. The stranger’s silhouette was a red blur to her adjusting vision as it walked out the door. There were unintelligible murmurs that followed. 

Her eyes fell shut. 

The next time she escaped sleep, everything felt sharper. Clarity pinched at her and suddenly she was not only awake, but felt somewhat alive. Her body was lying on something soft. She touched the silk and held it between her fingers. A bed. Katara struggled, but with a groan she lifted her torso till her elbows could shakily support her weight. 

She forced herself to sit up despite the weight on her chest. There were no bindings on her hands or feet, her clothes were still intact but her hair fell loose around her. She noticed now that this was no prison or pre-execution dungeon. The bed she laid on was huge, a four-poster with the gossamer curtains pulled back. It was a generous guest room, she realised, with enough space for half her village. The walls were a deep inviting orange and the ceiling tiled black and gold. A window replaced the far wall, furnished with a cushion that ran along the length of the sill and stencilled screen doors closed off what she guessed was a bathroom. There were bandages on her feet, her palms. She shivered with the thought that someone had touched her.

Looking around, she spotted a cup on the bedside table. Water? She hadn’t sensed it. Suddenly perking up, she tried to bend it to her will. The floor tipped sideways instead. Her head spun and she clutched it with a groan. She couldn’t even feel her _Chi_. Katara panicked, swung her arm out and grabbed the cup. Leaves swam in yellow water. She sniffed it and reeled. It shattered on impact with the floor when she sent it flying. 

“You’re awake.” 

Katara jumped. She hadn’t noticed anyone else in the room. With his voice came the crushing reality of her failure. Her fingers gripped tightly at the sheets. 

“You drugged me?” She recognised the smell of the tea. It was an ancient _Chi_ -blocking drug that suppressed bending. 

The Fire Lord was blurry as he shrugged. “Insurance.”

She was too cautious to move, choosing to stay exactly where she sat, letting her energy build till she knew what to do with it. 

“What do you want?” 

He slowly came into focus, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the double doors leading out of the room. He said nothing for a long time.

“What is your name?” 

It was her turn to say nothing. She pursed her lips and squared her shoulders. She stared right at him so he knew she would not cower in fear despite the surreality of the moment. More silence. It was daytime, she noticed. She didn’t know what day or the time. From the light that streamed through the window she could have guessed midday? There was no clock in the room to confirm. 

His crown was missing. His hair fell around his face and into amber eyes. The scar she had heard about was more striking than she ever expected. Especially in the light of day when everything was raw and vivid, like the crippling shame of her failure. Her fingers flew to her neck instinctively with the thought of Ma. It was a relief when they came into contact with the familiar coolness of the pendant. 

Zuko nodded towards the binds on her hands. “How are you feeling?” 

Her mind whirred with questions but she just bared her teeth. “ _What_ do you want?”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. He looked tired, eyes drooping with lack of sleep. “I want nothing from you, Assassin.” 

“Why am I here?” Her voice rose with uncontrollable hysteria. 

“You tried to kill me.” Zuko told her simply. Tried. She flinched and bit back tears. She failed. She failed. 

“You cannot imprison me.” Yes, he can.

“Yes, I can.” he shot her a lazy look. “But I won’t.”

When she stared at him in stunned silence, he pushed himself off the doors and slipped pale hands into the pockets of his trousers. 

“You are not a prisoner here. You would have died from that fall—you’re lucky to be alive. So, I will ask again, how do you feel?” 

She snapped, “Do not play games, sinner! Why are you keeping me here?” 

The Dragon King quirked a brow. “Am I?” he looked pointedly at her body and she grit her teeth. “You are not bound, nor are you incapable of leaving. The door is right here, as is the window if you’re so Hell bent on jumping to your death. You can leave, no one will stop you.” he paused. “However, I would prefer it if you stayed.”

A beat, then, “You are mad.” 

“And,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I will let you kill me.”

The hairs on the back of her neck rose up. He was taunting her. He must be. 

“This is a trick.” 

“I have no time for tricks, Assassin.” 

“Wha—”

“When the time is right, you may kill me. You can attempt all you want till then, but it will happen when I let it.” 

“You cannot be serious.” Katara blurted out in disbelief. Was he really giving her _permission_ to murder him? 

“I don’t care for jokes.”

She had to think straight. Figure it out. He looked so calm, patient, even. It had to be a trap. Right? _Right_? “You—” She stopped herself. “Why?” 

It was five beats, she counted, before he spoke, his eyes cast downward. “I’m afraid that is for another time. If you choose to stay.” There was a gentle knock at the door and some hushed _Wu_. “Excuse me, I have a meeting. Food will be sent up to the room.” 

Zuko stopped with his hand on the door handle and turned his head to the side. It was his unmarred side. It dawned on Katara why so many of the natives saw him as handsome. 

“The door only locks from the inside."

…

“You are far too young to lose your mind, brother.” 

Zuko sighed and pressed his face into his palms. “Azula.”

“Zuko.”

His sister sat across from him, her feet perched on the desk between them. She rarely used his given name. His uncle had wheeled a trolley of tea into his study alongside her thirty minutes ago. They brought questions with the Oolong and he felt betrayed. Iroh sat on a nearby chair and sipped quietly from his cup. 

“You are all overreacting.” 

“You are housing an Assassin who just tried to slit your throat.”

“She didn’t go for my throat.” 

“ _Sozin_ help us.” 

“She went for my heart.” He said, leaning forward and resting his arms on the cherrywood surface. He studied then picked up the glinting dagger. “Isn’t that strange? There is too much bone and muscle to dig through to pierce a heart with this little thing.” His fingertip skimmed the edge of the metal. “You would slice the neck clean and wait two, maybe three, minutes. She didn’t just want me dead. She wanted…she wanted—"

“Revenge.” Azula said, her eyes cast down. When they lifted they bright with curiosity. “Who does she work for?” 

“No one.” Iroh cut in smoothly before Zuko. “This isn’t a political matter. It is personal.” 

Azula stared at her brother. “You are housing a vengeful Assassin who tried to cut out your heart. We cannot buy her.” 

“I don’t wish to buy her.” 

“Of course not. We will ply her with hotcakes and famous Fire Nation hospitality instead!”

“She is not my prisoner. She is free to stay as long as she wishes. Make sure the staff is aware.”

“And then what? It’s the Summer Solstice. People from all over the nations visit on _Xiàzhì_.”

“We will tell them she’s an Ambassador. A foreign dignitary.”

“Of where, exactly? We know nothing about her, brother.” 

“I know enough.” He said firmly, cutting her a look. “You would do well not to question me.” 

She rolled her eyes, his authoritative tone falling on deaf ears. 

“Are you worried about me?” He teased, hoping to ease the tension in the room. 

“I have no interest in taking the throne.” She told him sternly, standing and brushing invisible lint from her robes. Still, she had significantly relaxed. “If she doesn’t kill you, telling Mai you’re hosting a beautiful assassin will.”

“Beautiful?” 

“You are transparent as you are honourable.” Azula smirked and crossed the room. “Things were getting boring here, anyway.” 

When she had left, Iroh dropped a hand onto the Fire Lord’s shoulder. The muscles were strained and bunched beneath the skin. 

“What is it, nephew?” 

“I recognise her.” Zuko murmured. He shook his head. “At least, I think I do.” 

Iroh watched him carefully as he murmured to himself. 

“Her eyes…Uncle, where are the records from Fa-Ozai’s reign? The villages his missionaries had invaded.”

“Burned, as per his request.”

“All of them?

“I’m afraid so. What is it?” 

Zuko ran his thumb across the engravings on the hilt of her dagger. He handed it to his uncle, his most trusted adviser. “Do you recognise this language?”

Iroh hummed to himself, examining the knife closely. He patted his pockets for his glasses and perched them onto the tip of his nose. “ _Nánshao_. They have distinct accents above their vowels, see? Incredibly difficult to learn. It is rarely spoken outside of a small Southern Water tribe.”

“A _Southern_ Water tribe? They don’t have waterbenders.”

“Don’t let rumour dictate judgement, nephew. Our world is a vast one.” 

Zuko bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t like being blindsided. 

 Iroh noticed the shift in the room as his nephew fell into silent thought. He quietly left, the door clicking closed behind him. He wondered about what teas she would enjoy. 

…

Katara waited thirty seconds till she rushed towards the door. She couldn’t help the gasp that spilled out of her mouth when she turned the handle and the door obediently opened. No lock. No prison. Was this some sort of sick, twisted game? Was the Dragon King more of a sadistic villain than she knew? 

The door opened out into a roomy hall. Two guards flanked the door she peeked out of. There were two on either side of every door in the corridor. They did not look at her. They did not stop her or drag her kicking and screaming back into the room. Part of her begged for this to be a trick, just so she could be sure of something. 

She slammed the door back shut. It was inane, but in this room is where she felt safest. 

Katara paced the room. Colourful lanterns fell from the ceiling, pink and yellow and green. The largest oriental rug she had ever seen spread out over the moonstone floors. Plush pillows and inviting throws splayed over the floor. The extension beyond the screen doors was as she guessed it, a luxurious bathroom fit for greedy royalty. There was a round bathtub, large enough to swim in. It, like the sink and the toilet, were a white marble against four walls of beautifully crafted tiles. The water ran free from the taps. It pained her to be unable to bend it to her will. It flowed over her hands limply, but she felt her heart soar at it’s cool touch. It had to be a ploy. To promise she could kill him, but rid her of her greatest weapon. 

She breathed hard, her feet sore. She leaned against a scratchy wall, heaving till she calmed herself down. The smartest thing to do here was to leave. Get as far away from the Fire Lord and his mind games. 

But to throw away the chance to kill him? Living in such close quarters with her target could only mean she would get her hands around his neck and squeeze hard enough to—it was too enticing. He knew that. He’d planned for this, her internal conflict. The thought alone was enough to stop her storm of thoughts and rush to the door. She yanked it open and broke into a run out of this wretched place when she collided with something—someone. Whoever it was steadied her with a firm hand on her arm. The other hand held a tray full of food. The smell had her stomach churning. Katara looked up at the face. A woman, intimidatingly beautiful. 

“Leaving so soon?” She asked with a red-lipped smirk. 

Katara stepped backwards out of her reach, then a few hurried steps more till she was back in the room. She followed, gently kicking the door shut behind her. The waterbender backed up till her the back of her knees touched the edge of the bed. Her eyes searched the woman’s form for any sign of a weapon. The armour she wore hid any bulges of hidden knives. 

She wasn’t so helpless, herself. There were sconces along the walls she could rip out to stab her with. The armoire had golden handles she could unscrew and cork through her eye. The decorative tiles in the bathroom, she could pry off and smash over her skull. 

The girl was striking. Her cheekbones were sharp and flushed, plump lips a rosy red. A tattoo poked out of the collar of her jacket, the ink on her skin spiralling out of her sleeves too. Her eyes were bright and familiar. No, _familial_. The cutting jawline and raven hair suddenly clicked. This was the beloved Princess the people spoke so fondly of. _Azula_ , she remembered. She held herself with grace of a royal. The brutish emblem of the _Wu_ sign for General on her uniform was impossible to miss. 

She planted the tray on the floor and slid it towards her. When she straightened, her hands were up in a gesture of surrender. 

“I come in peace with plentiful food,” she said, her lip curling in a way that made Katara blush. “Though, feel free to frisk me for reassurance.” 

That made the waterbender’s eyes widen. 

“I’m General Sozin. But you can call me Your Highness.”

“General?” Katara said slowly. Azula’s brows quirked at her accent. 

“One of my many accolades.” She smirked an easy, relaxed smirk. Like she wasn't speaking to the woman who tried to assassinate her brother and King. “And what do I call you, Lady…?” 

“I am no Lady.”

“Indeed.” Azula drawled, her pink tongue sliding over her lip. The girl was rough around the edges, that was certain. But Azula hadn’t seen something so delectable since Ty Lee wore those leather garters for her birthday. 

The waterbender eyed her curiously. Did the people here have a fetish for exotic foreigners? She was surely sent for some sort of manipulative scheme to get her talking. 

“Katara.” She found herself saying. A silly, vocal part of her wanted them to remember her name even if she left this place behind. 

“Ka-ta-ra.” Azula tested the name on her tongue, pleased with it. “You should try the _komodo_ chicken, Katara. I hope you can handle spice.” 

She looked down at the lavish tray. There was steamed rice with what she guessed was the _komodo_ chicken and a pile of hotcakes in a smaller bowl. Beside the plates were napkins, a tall glass of water and chopsticks. Her heart jumped into her throat when she spotted it. Her dagger. She was beautiful and unharmed. 

“You’re trusting an assassin with her knife?” Katara couldn’t help but ask. She lifted her knife, testing the weight. She’d missed the warmth of the wooden hilt against her palm. 

Azula shrugged an unbothered shoulder, leaning against the doors across from her. “A girl needs her sword.” The General continued when she said nothing. “Besides, you won’t kill me.”

“Won’t I?”

“ _Can’t_.” She corrected, then smiled. “Though I haven’t been choked in long, if you wanted to practise.”

The waterbender stared blankly at her. “Are you flirting with me?” 

“If I say yes will you keep talking in that delectable little accent of yours?”

It was considered a grave sin in the water tribes to seek the warmth of the same sex. She knew of a few friends from home who kept their sexuality a secret, denying even themselves the simple right of acceptance. But Azula, she was unrestrained. She exuded confidence and candour. If she wanted to stab someone, she’d face make sure they met her eyes. Shaking her head, Katara sharply pinched her wrist to snap herself out of it.

She took a bite out of the chicken. Her Highness was right. It was spicy but delicious. Her stomach churned loudly in appreciation. She tried to control the pace at which she ate even though her body ached for it. She dropped the chopsticks back onto the tray with a clatter after three more mouthfuls.

“What is all this?” there was urgency in her voice.

Azula rolled her lips together at the question. Her lipstick remained perfectly in place, “I know no more than you.”

“I don’t believe that.”

The Princess smiled and crossed her arms. “The staff are under strict orders not to intervene with any of your future assassination attempts on the Fire Lord. You can leave the palace at any time. You will be given regular meals and fresh clothes. You’re untouchable. What a shame.”

Katara gawked at her. “You are not worried?”

Azula decided not to make any quips about her brother’s reputation as the best firebender the nation had seen in a millennia. The girl would figure it out herself, if she chose to stay.

“If I wanted to die, I know I’d be happy if it was at the hands of a beautiful woman.”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks despite herself, “Your King wants to die?”

“He wants you to live, it would seem.”

Katara looked away, “I can't bend.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Ah. We’ve been briefed on your particular,” eyes flicked over her in thinly-veiled admiration. “Skill-sets.”

The waterbender smiled, ducking her head and pushing food into her mouth to hide it. It brought her a certain kind of satisfaction to see them fear her and her  _skill-sets._

“The tea will leave your system in a few days. The dosage cooked into your food will take a week.” Katara stopped chewing abruptly. “If you choose to stay, and vow not to attempt harm on anyone else other than your mark, you will have your bending back soon enough — for fairness sake. Otherwise, the door is right here.”

It sounded more like a proposition than an ultimatum as her supple body leant back against the heavy wood of the door. Katara swallowed hard. Inhaling through her nose, she slid her tray towards the other girl’s boots.

“So use it.”

The General smirked, slow and almost approving. She nodded, took the tray and left.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Been utterly drowning in university work, but yes, this story and I are both still alive. I'm sorry the chapter is so short. I like comments and/or death threats.

She spent a week with the door locked.

The first night she’d slipped into the expensive warmth of the slippery sheets was when she’d lost her mind. Before this, it was shoddy inns and questionable motels with pillows of concrete and sheets of scratchy puma-goat hairs. She slept fourteen hours between silk and heaven. When she next woke, she was ashamed.

Katara looked around the room now. She’d all but burned it down. The glass lamps that hung from the ceiling had turned the floor into a pool of shattered glass. Paint stripped off the walls from the points of contact with things she’d hurled at it. She’d sat like this for hours, watching the sun fall and rise. She prayed to her spirits under her breath.

She would go home. She would go home to the tribe and her family and the rest of her life. She would, she should. _Baba_ had spoken of marriage before she left. She suspected it to be Hyuk. He had broad shoulders and was the grandson of a village Elder. He was nice. He was, around. She would go home a failure.  

Her ideas had gotten creative. There was a lot of time to think on it. She could spear him through his good eye or drown him in the coy pond. She could poison him or throw him from the tallest balcony. She could make it last and hear him beg.

There was a timid knock then the stretch of familiar silence.

They knew now to leave food on the other side of the door. She would collect it just before her body shrivelled and collapsed. It was comforting for this to feel like a prison. When she felt faint the next morning, she crawled between the sea of broken glass and cracked open the door. There was a fresh tray of breakfast and what looked like a pile of clothes. Later, as she uncurled from the ball she’d been against the wall, she decided she reeked.

In the washroom she peeled her clothes off. They were cracking with dried sweat and blood. The water in the tub grew brown with specks of dirt. She flushed it away and ran another bath. She spent three silent hours, maybe days, there, in the water. Floating high above her body looking on, she absently bent a bead of water out of the pool. When a bubble of liquid rested in the air directly above her upturned finger, she was yanked, all of a sudden, into the moment. A sound halfway between a sob and a laugh escaped her. After that, she played with her element. When she had the energy, she used it to heal her wounds and make little waves along the tub. She scrubbed her skin clean, then raw, and washed her hair till it no longer felt like straw.

The women of the Fire Nation were notoriously immodest. Granted, the blistering weather didn't leave room for layering. But these tiny scraps of fabric were ridiculous. She fingered the white linen. At least they were loose. There was enough room under her sleeve to store her knife.

Katara stared at the sun that flooded her room with light now. It burned, but she didn’t care. When she blinked, small bursts of hot light bled into the black. The white spots painted her vision all the way out of the room and down the stairs. Servants gave each other frightened looks as they whisked past her quickly. A maid tripped over her feet and squeaked when Katara caught her eye. When she found him in the dining room, no, _hall_ , she hid quietly behind a wall.  

“Bit early to be drinking.”

“It’s happy-hour in Ba Sing Se," Azula smiled over the rim of her wine glass, her lips stained red. 

“You know,” and he spoke again, this time louder. “There is not much point in you sneaking around, Assassin.”

The dining hall could have housed her entire village. It was full of tall windows and a dome skylight. The wallpaper was a horrible flowery print though. The house was brighter than she expected. She imagined cave-like darkness and damp stone walls. Hot pits of fire where the floor would be. Hell, she’d imagined Hell.

“No, I suppose not,” she said, and it was the first time she’d heard her voice in a week. It didn’t sound like her.

They were staring, him and his sister. His sister was careful to watch him too, though. Katara cocked her head and stared back. For a King, he sparsely wore his crown. She guessed his hair was far too short for it. It fell just past the nape of his neck and into his eyes. 

“You bathed.” he said, clearing his throat when Katara looked at him blankly. The knife in her sleeve began to itch.

“What he _means_ ,” Azula began, she was smiling, “is you look—”

"I _meant_ what I said, Azula."

“Why did you save me?”

Zuko looked away. She didn’t think she cared why he didn’t let her die. The silly words hung in the air now.

“Azula,” the command was quiet. She hesitated but left with her glass. 

“I can’t explain a woman falling from my balcony to her death.”

“You don’t answer to anyone.”

Zuko’s brows strung together, “A King answers to his people.”

Katara scoffed. _You will answer to my sword._

He cleared his throat, again. “You’re staying, I presume.”

“I want to kill you.”

“I know.” he nodded, took a sip of juice.

“I’m going to kill you,” she slid the knife down her sleeve into her palm.

“Not yet.”

“Fuck you,” she said and held the blade to his throat. Her other hand pulled at his hair so his neck was taut as she stood behind him. His fingers wrapped around the wrist holding the knife but she pressed it deeper into his skin. A line of blood dripped down his throat. He winced but made no other move to stop her.

“You’re getting blood on my eggs.”

“Is this a fucking joke to you?”

“No,” he said and broke her wrist. She screamed and almost crumpled to the floor. He held her up with a hand to her throat. Her right hand was limp at her side but the other scratched violently at his fingers. Her foot struck his shin.

“You said—” she panted.

“I told you,” Zuko snapped. “not yet.”

“Let me go,” she screamed at him.

And he did. She fell to the floor and cradled her wrist. Her cheeks were wet and burning.

The King’s chest was heaving as he gripped the edge of the table. Zuko kept turned away from her till he’d calmed down. This was not how he imagined their first real interaction to go. Truthfully, he hadn't known what to expect. When he kneeled in front of her, he set a bowl of water down between them.

“Here,” he told her quietly. She didn’t care, the pain was excruciating. She plunged her hand into the water and it glowed blue. In minutes, her bones slid back into place beneath the purpling skin.

When she regained feeling in her fingers, she slapped him.

A resounding _smack_ bounced off the walls. After a moment, he slowly faced her, cracking his jaw. A trickle of blood ran down the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb.

“OK,” he went, looking down at the blood. “Fair enough.”  

“Is that what this is, you sadistic fuck?” Katara yelled, flushed. “You tell me I can kill you just so you can break my bones when I try?”

Zuko sighed and ran an agitated hand through his hair. “I have affairs to get in order, first.”

“You're going to Hell.”

“No,” he pushed off the floor and walked away. “We're already here.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am apparently unwilling to give up on this story! For any of you that are still bearing with me, thank you and I'm sorry. Comments ensure updates at least every four months.

Katara held her breath and waited.

It had been six days since she’d last tried to kill the Fire Lord. The most recent attempt ended with her sprawled on the floor with a broken leg and a wooden corkscrew tangled in her hair. He’d left her there, murmuring something about how original it was that she went for his eye. Before that, she tried to drown him in his soup, but he’d caught her hand and burned her wrist. She didn’t heal it after. She’d stopped counting after the thirtieth time. She had lived here one month.

The King had been in and out of meetings the past week. She had considered killing him in front of his peers, but she wanted to get out of here alive. There was no assurance his guards would adhere to his rules of not harming her, once he was dead.

In her second week, the Fire Lord’s uncle knocked on her door. He was old and plump, wheeling a cart of tea. She eyed him through a slim crack of her ajar door.

“May I come in, Lady Katara?”

“Who are you?”

“A friend,” he smiled. “I hope.”

He didn’t say anything about the state of the room. The maids would clean it every time she left, but she’d wreck it all over again. It was the principle.

“Do you like tea?”

“I won’t be drugged again.”

He looked appalled, “Tea is no place for drugs.”

When he made the tea, he showed her all the steps so she could rest assured. She didn’t, holding her knife in front of her the whole time. They sat in silence for a long while. He looked warm, like he was good at hugs. The tea was the best she’d ever had. She wanted to curl up and cry. He came by twice since then.

She heard soft footsteps, recognising them instantly as his. She’d grown hyper-aware of his movements the past month. She spent so much of her time watching him or thinking about what she noticed when she’d watched him that she knew it all. His footsteps were quiet, but distinct, regal steps one after the other. His right hand was stronger, but only slightly. He was trained in multiple martial arts, preferred dual broadswords and bent fire like it was as simple as breathing. He was composed, quiet and read a lot. He was sensitive in a small spot under his shoulder blade. He meditated every morning. He spoke five languages. He spent an hour every week by the coy pond, feeding the turtle ducks.

When the King rounded the corner, she slammed the hilt of her blade across the back of his skull. He clutched where warm pain bloomed in his head and felt to his knees with a surprised grunt.

She panted above him, annoyed to find his fingers weren’t coated in red. When he hauled himself up, Katara shoved him against the wall with her knife to his throat.

Zuko tipped his head against the wall and leaned against it, closing his eyes.

“I thought I’d been clear, Waterbender.”

He wouldn’t say her name, though she knew very well that he knew it. She scowled and pushed her elbow into his neck. She tried to ignore that she was on her tiptoes to reach him.

“Do you not fear death?”

He cracked his good eye open, “Do you?”

“No.”

Zuko nodded, and finally, finally, looked down at her. He noticed her wrist and lifted a hand to touch the marred skin there.

“You didn’t heal this?” he said, brows furrowing. He sounded irritated.

She dug her knee into his leg, but he only nudged it off and caught it between his tightly, effortlessly. She struggled but didn’t want to lose the upper-hand, not now. He was physically much stronger, she had to be quick. She had to do it now, swift and clean along the column of his throat.

“I’d always guessed you were into some kinky foreplay, Sparky.”

“Toph—”

That’s when the floor gave way beneath her. The room spun violently as Katara was thrown back against the far wall. Her body slumped against it from the sheer force and the ground seemed to shake.

“What—” Katara started, lurching forward when the wall behind her grew arms and wrapped around her wrists, yanking her back. She thrashed helplessly against the vices wrapped around her hands, not quite believing it. She’d never seen an Earthbender before.

The girl between them looked no older than thirteen at first glance. When she caught a look at her face beneath the raven fringe, Katara realised she was wrong. She couldn’t have been much younger than her. She stood in green robes with her bare feet apart. A smirk played on her lips but her eyes, through dark strands of hair, were a milky grey.

Zuko pushed off the wall with a sigh, brushing off his knees and rolling his neck.

“Let me go.” Katara hissed, kicking helplessly against the wall.

“Was that necessary?”

The girl scoffed, “I just saved your life, Sparky.”

“Release her,” he said.

“Release me!”

“Are you drunk?”

“I was handling it, Toph.”

“Like Hell you were,” she crossed her arms. “She was going to kill you.”

He sighed, “No, she wasn’t.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Do you mind, Assassin?” Zuko looked at her briefly, impatiently, narrowing his good eye. Katara grit her teeth.

“Toph, let her go, _please_.”

When Katara was let free, she sprang forward and wrapped a water whip from the pouch that hung at her waist around Toph’s neck. She flung the young girl against the wall she was just trapped against, watching in victory as she slammed into it and fell limply.

Zuko pinned her to a nearby door by her neck, “You’re making a mess, today.”

“Did I get blood on the marble again?”

He smiled, cocking his head and tightening his grip around her throat. She clawed at his hand. “Nothing the maids can’t handle.”

She suspected he liked this. She kept him on his toes. Sometimes she thought she let him fight back because she liked it too. His hand was hot on her skin. His thumb pressed into the side of her throat and her breathing shallowed. Truthfully, this was the most alive she had felt in her entire existence. The prospect of killing him was good, but now, now the prospect of him fighting her was better.

“I can’t breathe,” she gasped, tugging blindly at his shirt.

“Toph is off-limits. Understood?”

She kicked his shin, hard. He flinched, releasing her. When her head stopped spinning and her feet were firmly on the ground, she noticed the Earthbender was dusting off her robes. All his friends were masochists too, she thought.

“Sparky,” Toph drawled, nearing them now. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Katara bit the inside of her cheek, “I’m not his friend.”

“You’re okay?” Zuko said. Genuine concern tinged his voice and Katara looked to him in surprise.

“You know better than to ask me that, Sparky.” The blind girl turned towards Katara, staring at the spot by her left ear. “Waterbender, is it?”

Katara didn’t think before she said, “I didn’t know Earthbenders could be—”

“Blind?”

“Short.”

Zuko bit the corner of his mouth. Toph laughed, “You’re the infamous in-house assassin Sparky’s told us nothing about.”

Katara clenched and unclenched her fingers.

“Not very good, are you?”

Zuko stepped between them just as she lurched forward. She collided with his chest and thought about crushing him between blocks of ice. He looked pointedly at her throat. Her hand lifted to touch the skin there, bruised and purpling where his fingers dug into her neck. He parted his mouth to speak, when she turned and left, itching to run. Her room was freshly ruined that night.

...

Two weeks later Zuko spotted her in the temple across the gardens.

He was walking past the pond early that morning when he saw her, kneeling in the empty dome with her head low.

“What is she doing?” Azula said, fresh from her morning training. Firebenders rose with the sun.

“Praying.”

“What?”

“She’s praying.” Zuko told her, eyes fixed on the distant figure. Her hair was braided down her back. She’d been sat still like that for fifteen minutes.

“Fuck me. Amma used to pray there.”

“I know.”

Azula cocked her head and pressed the tip of her tongue to the roof of her mouth, “Mai is in your room. She looks unhappier than usual.”

Zuko cursed, peeling his eyes from the waterbender to look to the skies. He turned back once as he walked back inside.

Azula wasn’t lying, Mai was seething. She was stiff and poised, sat on the edge of his bed.  
  
“Mai, I know—”

“I want to see her,” she said plainly, her eyes cold. “I want to see your little assassin.”

He was taken aback, “She’s not a zoo-animal, Mai.”

Her eyes flashed, “And what, pray tell, is she?”

Zuko sighed, “Irrelevant. She’s irrelevant. Look, I was going to sit you down and tell you all about this. I just haven’t had the time and you’ve been away with your father—”

“So, you thought you’d get yourself a mulatto mistress?”

He bit his tongue against his immediate anger at the slur, “She’s not my mistress.”

“You haven’t fucked her, yet?” Mai stood now, her shoulders squared.

Zuko’s ears pinked at the tips, “I’m not _fucking_ her, Mai.”

“She tried to _kill you_.”

“Mai.”

“She is living in our home, trying to kill you.”

“Please, Mai.”

“Are you planning to die before our wedding?”

Zuko paused and blinked once, twice. Had he really been foolish enough to believe she cared about his wellbeing? She wanted to know who would get the throne. She wanted to know if she would get the throne. He understood it, this, self-security. This marriage was nothing more.

“Azula will take the throne,” he told her spitefully.

Mai looked the most outraged he had ever seen her. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. She set her sharp jaw, “I am your wife. I am the Fire Lady.”

“No, you aren’t yet.” He snapped. The room fell into silence. Regretful, he sighed and closed his eyes, “Fuck. I’m sorry, Mai. We should talk about this, you’re right—”

She pushed past him, “Write to me once you’ve come to your senses.”

...

On the day her stay had officially become two months, Iroh brought her hotcakes.

“This calls for a celebration,” he told her, pouring them both fresh teas. They were in her room again. It looked much neater than usual. She hadn’t torn down the gossamer curtains in days.

“Your people are strange,” she said, chewing slowly.

He smiled, “Will you oblige an old man in telling a story?”

Katara beamed, nodding. He reminded her so dearly of Gran-Gran. She had come to love their moments together, sipping tea and talking about culture and literature or sitting in pleasant silence for hours. He was a good man.

“There was a little boy who found his Amma sleeping. He was Amma’s precious boy, see. He would follow her everywhere. When she knelt to pray every morning, he’d try to copy her and sit still for as long as he could. He wouldn’t last very long and spent the rest of the time making funny faces till his Amma laughed. She would read and so would he, his book upside down and too heavy for his little arms. When she fed the fish, he cried about them drowning. She put him to bed every evening at sundown, singing an old lullaby.” Iroh started to sing, “ _The moon is bright, the wind is quiet. The leaves hang over the window. My baby, fall asleep quickly. Sleep, dreaming sweet dreams. Mother’s baby, close your eyes. Yes, sleep, sleep, dreaming sweet dreams._ ”

Katara smiled, leaning in to hear closely. The melody of the song was similar to a lullaby she’d heard from her mother.

“So this night, this little boy found his Amma sleeping. Amma, wake up, he said, I think the fish are drowning. He nudged her and tugged at the ends of her long black hair. Amma, are you angry with me? He asked, crying. She wasn’t, of course. He pushed her harder. Amma, I’m sorry for what I did. Please talk to me. The force of his push rolled her over. Her eyes were open. There was a slit across her throat and he saw, now, that the floor under his feet was red.”

Katara gasped, reeling back. “This is a horrible story.”

Iroh gave her an apologetic smile, “The little boy started crying, but he didn’t know why, not really. His Amma was asleep. He got on the floor and curled up against her, holding her till he fell asleep too.”

“Spirits, the poor boy,” Katara whispered, feeling a lump grow in her throat. The back of her eyes stung. “Why are you saying this?”

“In the morning, they found him painted with red. He wouldn’t let go of her. He grew up, the little boy, very quickly after that. His father was a very powerful man. He wanted to kill some innocent people for monetary gain. The little boy, now not so little, spoke out against it. He said it was cruel and barbaric. That lives were priceless. In retaliation, his father burned the side of his face.”

She stilled, her pulse racing against her wrists and thrumming in her ears. She threw the cup of tea in a rage, smashing it against the floor. Her cheeks were damp, growing wetter. “Enough! Enough of this story.”

“My nephew,” Iroh said patiently. “is a good man. A better man than I ever was. I believe you have your reasons, Lady Katara. But learn who the man is at the end of your sword, before you give him the mercy of death.”

...

After a few apologetic letters, Mai was compliant. He promised to give her an heir and leave her the throne. He sent ruby-encrusted jewellery and expensive scents to which she replied most speedily: I _will see you tomorrow._ That tomorrow, she knelt before him and took his cock into her hot mouth. Zuko knew she would stir more issues and attempt to harm Katara. He was willing to do whatever it took to prevent that. He owed her too much.

Zuko had figured it out weeks ago. After finding out the language carved onto her blade, he made sure to note the inscriptions down before he sent back her weapon. For days, he studied what little material the palace library had on _Nánshao_ and her home tribe. One night, he saw her piercing blue eyes wide and shiny with tears. She was closer to the ground, younger, so was he. They stood on snow, but it was stained red with blood. Her cries were ugly, and he felt his own eyes sting. When she screamed, he woke with a start. He was sweating.

When he was a small boy, Ozai had taken him on a raid to a southern water tribe. There, they planned to kill all remaining waterbenders. A woman stepped in front of her, Katara, and insisted she was who they were looking for. His father’s men sliced her head off in front of her children, in front of Zuko. He had cried himself to sleep for months after that. Ozai was always good at killing mothers.

Zuko wanted to die. He had always felt foreign in his own skin, going through motions that resembled that of a Fire Lord. If he died, it wouldn’t feel like a loss but an extraction. He knew he couldn’t be so selfish as to take his life. Not as Fire Lord. His people depended on him. Ozai was dead and he owed it to her to let her kill him, the closest link. He would let her, once he had taken care of his people.

He would fall to his knees in front of her and beg for it.


End file.
